Summer Camp!
by DDaughterofAthena
Summary: From a completely non-canon universe to deaths galore, welcome to IWSC Summer Camp! With a collection of one-shots dedicated to anything and everything, you're sure to find something you love, so go ahead and check it out! (Disclaimer: Any relation to Harry Potter is owned by their respective owners, not me) Chapter 1; The Boy Who Lived
1. The Boy Who Believed

_**[name] athena**_

_**[words without A/N] 1055**_

_**[cabin] mckinnon**_

_**[prompt] write about a character stuck in a hopeless situation with no way out — for iwsc summer camp — kayaking/up the creek without a paddle**_

_**[warnings] canon character deaths, descriptive death, manipulation, brief description of torture**_

_**[rating] t**_

_**[summary] voldemort says harry is dead. ron and hermione believe it. but neville has always known that harry has a plan, harry will save them. right?**_

_**The Boy Who Believed**_

Neville's heart pounded.

The wand in his hand felt slipper with the sweat and dirt from the battle pooling on his arm, his sweater torn and stained with vomit that didn't belong to him. Next to him, Luna's air of perpetual dreaminess was dulled, her hair mussed with twigs and stained a dull brown with dried blood.

Voldemort's voice echoed through the air, and even the soft whimpers and groans from the injured were quieted— out of fear or respect, however, Neville didn't know, nor did he want to.

"Harry Potter is dead," Voldemort boomed.

The silence in the Great Hall was tense, palpable. A few students let out broken, panting sobs, and Neville's blood turned to ice as he heard the rest of Voldemort's speech.

Harry… oh God, _Harry_. Not an hour ago he had talked to Harry, not an hour ago he had tried to assure Harry that they would win the war, and now… no. No, Harry would never abandon them like this. Not without a plan.

The hope in his chest, weak though it was, swelled brightly as Neville turned behind him, waiting to see a smirk dancing on Hermione's lips or a proud grin brightening up Ron. Instead he only saw a horrified grimace on Hermione as she turned around, crumpling in Ron's arms — Ron, who had no light in his eyes, Ron, who looked as though his world had been shattered.

Neville swallowed, trying to ignore the pit in his stomach as he walked toward the open doors of the Great Hall, seeing an army in front of his eyes. Behind him, a heart-wrenching scream of pain that he never imagined he would hear from Professor McGonagall. It was the catalyst of rebellion as yells and gasps filled the air, all eyes on Harry Potter's body.

Hagrid, the half-giant carrying Harry's body, could only be described as horrified. The Death Eaters surrounding them laughed at everyone's misery, and it was all Neville could do to keep the light of hope in his heart.

"Silence!" Voldemort ordered, and the scream that was about to break past Neville's lips was swallowed, the sobs and tears from the army abruptly stopped. Voldemort continued talking as Hagrid set Harry down at Voldemort's feet, yet a sort of ringing in Neville's ears blocked out all sound of what was happening.

Neville stared fixedly at Harry's body, waiting for the wink, for Harry to jump up and destroy Voldemort, for _something_. Instead, all that happened was hearing Ron yelling a sentence, and Neville swallowed; Harry would come back, of course Harry would, what was he thinking. And yet, why wasn't Harry moving, why wasn't Harry breathing — no, it was Neville's memory. Harry was alive, Harry was simply waiting for someone to distract Voldemort. Neville was more than happy to be that distraction.

Letting out a savage yell, Neville ran toward Harry, surprised at how he could hear the sound. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Death Eaters raising their wands, pointing them at Neville, but he simply continued running — Harry wouldn't let them hurt him, at any moment now Harry would stand up and perform something marvelous that would destroy Voldemort.

Before he could reach Harry, however, he heard Voldemort let out a laugh and saw a flash of red light, letting out a small grunt of pain as he stumbled and fell. Voldemort was talking, the high voice shrill to Neville's ears, but it was something that Neville could not hear.

As Neville pulled himself to his feet, Voldemort was all at once in front of him, laughing coldly.

"Ah, Longbottom. You still respect Potter, who's shown time and time again that truly, the only thing he cares about is his own skin? You still believe that Potter is _alive_, perhaps?"

"Don't say his name," Neville growled. "Harry _is_ alive, and so is Dumbledore's Army."

A roar of cheers rose from the crowd, and Voldemort laughed loudly.

"It seems that you are as delusional as your parents are, Neville. Perhaps you need a lesson, I say." Raising his wand, Voldemort smiled hollowly, yelling '_Crucio_!' loud enough for the crowd to let out a horrified gasp.

Neville's body rose into the air, jerking and twitching as pain overcame his senses. A moment, or maybe an hour, later, Neville felt his body slam to the ground with a thud. A cold hand wrapped around his neck, and Neville let out a sort of choked yell, only to hear a laugh high above him as his body was dragged to Harry's.

Voldemort dropped Neville's body next to Harry's, Neville's head pressed to Harry's chest by a thin hand.

He feels a cold breath in his ear, only to hear Voldemort's voice hissing, "Tell me, Neville, do you hear a heart in the Boy Who Lived?"

_Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum._

Neville's chest swelled, and he laughed weakly, unable to breathe. Harry is alive, oh of course Harry is _alive_, he never should have doubted Harry, now they'd be able to overthrow Voldemort.

Voldemort smirked, still whispering in Neville's ear, his words too soft for anyone but Harry and Neville to hear. "You see, I knew that Narcissa was a liar. She'd put her family over her Lord any day, and unfortunately, I can't let that happen, Harry."

The weight pressing on Neville was gone, and for a split second Neville rose, tightening his hands into fists.

"Neville should be proud. He will die for a glorious new age that will rise once more!"

Voldemort's voice was louder than ever, addressed to everyone, and Neville heard the gasps and screams of the crowd too late.

Voldemort studied a sword in his hands, conjured by none other than Bellatrix. It was the Sword of Gryffindor, though it wasn't like Neville or Harry would be alive long enough to appreciate the irony of it.

In one swift motion, he plunged the tip of the sword into Neville's head, thrusting it downwards as it sliced through Harry's heart, piercing the grass below the two now-dead bodies. Neville's body, which had slowly been rising up to try and fight Voldemort once more, had now fallen to the ground again. Harry, too, was dead, his chest unmoving and his eyes seeing no more. Blood spilled out from the two of them, dying the grass maroon. Voldemort laughed once more at seeing the horrified silence of the crowd, his feet colored red with blood as well. He pulled the hilt of the sword and raised it above his head, not caring about the blood from the tip of the sword running down his arm.

"Behold, the Boy Who Lived!"


	2. The Home for Witches and Wizards

_**[name] athena**_

_**[words without A/N] 901**_

_**[cabin] mckinnon**_

_**[prompt] Write about the golden trio trying to rebuilding the Magical world after the Battle for Hogwarts — for iwsc summer camp — building a fort/build your own dreams, or someone else will hire you to build theirs**_

_**[warnings] mentions of canon character death**_

_**[rating] k+**_

_**[summary] fleur and bill rebuilt their life. or, more specifically, they built a new one**_

_**The Home for Witches and Wizards**_

Fleur sighed, her hair tied up and arms covered in dirt, mud burrowing under her perfect fingernails. Next to her, Bill shared her silence, pulling out a few weeds and replacing them with flower seeds.

Although the war had been over a year ago, it would still take time for her to stop remembering Fred or Tonks or Remus every day. If she _could _even forget.

The wind battered at her skin, and the simple jeans and shirt she wore did nothing to stop her from shivering, wincing at the frigid cold.

"Jacket?" Bill murmured, and Fleur shook her head with a simple no, running her fingers over words engraved in stone, shaking her head before clipping some flowers and moving a flower or two.

The names — the names were the worst part. They reminded her that she wasn't enough to help stop it, that if only she'd been _braver _and gone to Hogwarts, she would have been able to stop the deaths. She'd have been able to _stop _the torture, she'd have saved them.

She shook her head, feeling a familiar pang in her chest, and a light tap on her shoulder had her jump up, eyes flashing as her hand reached for her wand.

"M- Mrs. Weasley, may I use the loo?" A young girl, with shocking black hair and brown eyes, trembled at her teacher's sudden reaction.

Fleur closed her eyes, letting out a tense sigh, and nodded. "Ye', Ms. 'alle."

The girl nodded thankfully, shooting a quick, confused glance at Fleur before quickly skipping away. Beneath her, Bill gave Fleur a worried look, standing up to wrap her in a hug.

"Need a minute?" He murmured into her hair. Fleur nodded, and Bill gently kissed her hair before letting go, Fleur walking into the Shell Cottag — no, the Home for Witches and Wizards.

Percy Weasley looked up at Fleur when she walked in, nodding understandingly at her before returning to reading aloud a story to the fours and threes. Gabrielle was in the kitchen, teaching the fives to eights to cook, while the nines to elevens were outside, helping Bill and Fleur garden.

Taking in a breath, Fleur walked into the nursery, where the babies were eating soundly. Luna looked up when Fleur walked in, smiling encouragingly as she bottle-fed a one-year-old.

The sight of the children both made Fleur happy, yet the sadness quickly fell in as well — these were children that could have done so, so much, and yet most of them were never able to meet their parents, who were heroes that died for the wizarding world.

Faltering, she sat down next to a wide-awake one-year-old named Quinn, picking him up and gently beginning to tame the small tufts of hair on his head. The baby gurgled happily, the tuft of hair on his head turning blue as his skin turned orange-tinted. Fleur smiled softly, ignoring the pain in her chest that made her remember Tonks.

After a few minutes, her heart rate returned to normal, and she took in a breath before walking back outside, this time armed with a jacket that blocked out the cold.

In front of the front entrance, Bill and the kids were still gardening, cleaning up the memorial to the martyrs that died. The brick pathway that led up to the front entrance had names engraved on every one, the names of those that were either killed from Voldemort's hand or during the war. A few kids were behind the Home, cleaning up Dobby's grave as well.

A group of kids walked out from the bathroom, Hally part of them, the girls quickly returning to gardening. The bathroom was part of the larger building that had been built, attached to the Cottage, made specially for the home that so many were glad to see made — a place where children who didn't have parents could stay, happy and loved. When Fleur and Bill volunteered for Shell Cottage to turn into the Home, Luna, Gabrielle, and Percy were more than happy to help out with the Home — a sort of therapy for them, to help guide the next generation to rebuild the world.

Taking in a breath, Fleur knelt down once more, this time dusting off the fence that was at the front of the garden. She spotted two boys looking at her curiously, and gestured for them to help her, standing up and taking another step back.

She wasn't able to help stop the war, she wasn't able to protect Hogwarts, she wasn't able to stop being a coward and try to help those that had helped _her _oh-so-often in the past.

She wasn't able to save her friends, she wasn't able to save the children that would have made the future all the more brighter, the children that would have filled the halls of Hogwarts with chatter and joy.

She wasn't able to stop Voldemort from destroying her hope, her life, she wasn't able to stop him from tearing down the world.

But she could still help them.

She could help the world reset, she could help the warriors and survivors who had no home.

She could help the kids that were alone, lost, the ones that had no family.

Swallowing, Fleur took in a breath.

She might not be able to fix everything.

But she can sure as hell try to.

_**Not my best work, and not very proud of it, but eh.**_


End file.
